


Devotion

by SOABA



Series: The Oak, the Rose, and the Axe [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Dwagginshield - Freeform, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Families of Choice, Green Magic, Hobbit Culture & Customs, M/M, Other, Tattoos, Triads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SOABA/pseuds/SOABA
Summary: First in a series of stories which are virtually unconnected to one another save for the incontrovertible fact that they all center on a certain precocious and snarky Hobbit, his grumpy and majestic Dwarven King, and their steadfast warrior Captain, (who, not so secretly, would kill for Bilbo’s delectable biscuits).Or, the one with the magical tattoo.





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> Written for the 'Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday 2017' Event!  
> Have a Very Merry Christmas Rutobuka!!!

**_Devotion_ **

It had been well worth the sharp, repeating pain of the long tattoo process, Bilbo decided as he examined – with help from the ornate, gilded mirror, which was rather unnecessarily encrusted with large rubies and pearls, in his excessively stocked dressing room – the thick flowing lines of green, purple, blue, red, silver, and golden inks that would now forever stain his back and shoulders with stark approval, to be able to bear the gorgeous image he now did. A shimmering Gold Oak tree, with hundreds of leaves in various shades of glittering green, was sprawled across his upper back as its roots twisted down toward his waist, and silvery vines of roses, in the palest of shining lavenders and the brightest of blues and the deepest of reds, spiraled around the trunk. And in the very center of the tree, at is heart, were three purple runes in a cluster, surrounded by a ring of spiky Khuzdûl, glimmering with just the slightest bit of Green Magic.

**_Abadaz_. _Abanaz_. _Ûrzudaz_. _Kumath Kurduaz_.**

_Of the Mountain. Of the Stone. Of the Sun. Song of the Heart._

From the very beginnings of the outline and throughout the meticulous procedure until it reached its glittering completion, it had taken a full two weeks to have the inking done. Weeks longer to plan out, because Bilbo had been adamant that the tattoo was to be a surprise for his Dwarven husbands and so he had carefully kept it a secret from everyone until Thorin and Dwalin had left the Mountain on a diplomatic mission to the Iron Hills; everyone save his cunning sister-in-law, Dís, whom had been the one to flawlessly orchestrate the necessity of the journey on Bilbo’s behalf. Thorin and Dwalin had been loath to leave Bilbo behind, of course, but the Lords and ladies of the Iron Hills were not nearly so accepting of Bilbo’s authority as King Consort and his marriage as those of Erebor were, even a year and a half after the overly ostentatious wedding and coronation, and so they had, reluctantly, agreed to part from him for a little over three weeks’ time.

Which was all the time that Óin required to finish the inking and for Bilbo to heal enough that the redness and swelling was almost completely gone from his back and shoulders – it would have taken longer for the skin to nearly return to its normal state if Bilbo had not been a child of Yavanna and, therefore, possessing the quick healing that She had gifted to Her people.

Hobbits, as a general rule, did not get inkings – or piercings, for that matter, which Bilbo had been convinced to get in the tips of his ears only a mere nine months after the Battle – as it was considered, well, _uncivilized_ by most in the Shire. It was hardly forbidden, but no respectable lad or lass would dare to permanently and purposefully etch something into their skin, no matter how pretty of a design it was. The closest that most anyone in the Shire had come to such a thing in generations were the Lithe Day flowers and leaves painted on the hands of fauntlings to bless their growth for another year and those washed off easily in the bath.

Of course, no respectable Hobbit would deign to go on an adventure with thirteen decidedly non-Hobbit strangers and aforementioned Hobbit’s eccentric Wizard of a godfather either. Or any kind of adventure at all, really. And Bilbo had chosen to leave behind that world of perfectly respectable masks and unchanging simplicity for a reason – a reason that his burly, proud, wonderful husbands were very much a part of.

Dwarrow, however, regarded inkings in a _very_ different light. They were revered badges of honor and bravery in battle, respected signs of their skill with their chosen Craft, were heraldic marks of their status and – as was the case of the line of Durin – their divine rank, and they were everlasting symbols of the deep-rooted devotion that they held for their families, closest friends, and for their Ones. Tattoos were one of the foundations of Dwarven culture, much like their meticulously-groomed long hair and beards which were woven with emblematic beads and gems, their impeccable stone-sense, and their fierce love of creation and craft.

Thorin and Dwalin, Bilbo’s brothers, his nephews, his sister-in-law, even Tauriel, upon her not-unexpected-but-still-a-surprise elopement to Kíli, had tattoos somewhere on their persons. Bifur had the most – he really was quite fond of animals and he had a mélange of beasts both exotic and common inked into his skin in clever, geometric patterns in addition to those tattoos that were more traditional; he even had a bunny etched onto one of his wrists with Bilbo’s name on its tail to represent their kinship.

Bilbo’s husbands had _lots_ of tattoos, as well, and Bilbo knew the meanings behind each and every single one of them – far too many represented an unpleasant and dangerous fight of some kind, in Bilbo’s opinion – and he had carefully explored them all enough times in adulation that he could picture them perfectly in his mind’s eye with ease. All of the inkings were masterpieces in their own right, from the largest to the smallest, with their angular lines, bright colors, and dazzling geometric patterns. Most of them were infused with the dust of some kind of gemstone, as well, which created a stunning display on their bodies when they were on display – as they often were for Bilbo.

Even though inkings were such an integral part of Dwarven life, Thorin and Dwalin had not once spoken of Bilbo getting one, not even when they themselves had gotten the sprawling and breathtaking tattoos that represented their marriage to him.

For rather a long time, Bilbo had hardly cared that they had not asked it of him. For all that Bilbo had fallen rather desperately in love with the Melodies of his Heart during the Quest, the day that he officially was wed to them was not a memory that Bilbo particularly cherished. The ceremony had taken place more out of obligation than any kind of affection – Thorin and Dwalin had rushed to marry him as a way to keep him safe from the brutal punishment that they would have otherwise been forced to mete out as recompense for his theft of the Arkenstone – and, for all that it had been an affair worthy of Dwarven Royalty, it had been a cold and unfeeling event that had just about shattered Bilbo’s heart.

Things had changed, radically, several months after the fact when Dís had arrived and quickly accomplished what none of the Company had been able to – namely, getting Dwalin, Thorin, and Bilbo to really _talk_ to one another about what had transpired during the dark days that the gold-sickness had plagued Bilbo’s husbands and because of that intense conversation the three had finally begun to heal and forgive. It had been the most emotional and cathartic experience of Bilbo’s life and was one that he was eternally grateful for. That night, Thorin and Dwalin had whispered their marriage vows into Bilbo’s skin and hair and they had possessed far more weight than they had during the first, public recitation. They had rung so much truer the second time around and they had touched Bilbo’s heart, stitching it back together inch by inch.

But though united the three of them stood from that night on, neither Thorin nor Dwalin had made any mention of Bilbo receiving an inking to represent his marriage to them. It had not bothered Bilbo until he realized just how important such tattoos were to Dwarves, for _all_ married Dwarrow bore the mark of their spouse or spouses on them, and then… well, it had bothered him quite a great deal.

There had been a period of several agonizing days during which Bilbo had fretted and brooded – which was supposed to exclusively be Thorin’s job – and worked himself up into several near-panics regarding _why_ they had not asked him to get a tattoo and what their negligence in doing so meant. Bilbo had baked, and gardened, and cooked, and then baked some more with a fierce kind of diligence which was usually reserved for his daily training with the weaponry that his husbands and brothers had deemed it necessary for him to be capable of utilizing. Though, truth be told, when only he, Thorin, and Dwalin were present for said lessons, they typically devolved into something else entirely, something far more pleasurable than sword fighting or archery or knife throwing.

Dís had cornered him about his demeanor eventually, because Bilbo had not been nearly as subtle about freaking out as he had assumed he had been – apparently, even his husbands were concerned by the time that he had produced the eighteenth tray of honey biscuits in a single frenzied afternoon – and Bilbo’s fears about them not truly wanting him had spilled out. And Dís, bless her straightforward, no-nonsense self, had explained to Bilbo that it was not that Thorin and Dwalin did not wish for Bilbo to get an inking, but that they had lost any right to request it of him as part of their vows to one another when they had allowed their madness to overtake their love for him on the Battlements, when they had put their hands on him in anger instead of love. It was a penance for the violence that they had perpetrated that day.

Bilbo had taken a very deep, calming breath, because he had rather hoped that they had gotten past all the destructive self-reparation, and then informed Dís that he was getting a damn inking of marriage whether his melodramatic husbands believed themselves worthy or not.

It was, quite possibly, the most unHobbitish thing that he had ever done – and that included marrying a pair of Dwarves and moving into a mountain – but it was worth it. Worth it, because his husbands were standing before him, still in their traveling clothes – clearly they had come straight to their suite upon returning to the Mountain – and they were staring at his back in the mirror with such fierce shock and unadulterated joy that it caused Bilbo’s heart to swell in his chest at the sight.

“Bilbo, _Gayadê_ ,” Dwalin breathed out after a long few moments, “What… why have ya’…?”

“I love you,” Bilbo responded simply. “ _Fy Alawon_.”

Thorin reacted to that first, pulling Bilbo into his arms in a tight embrace that Dwalin joined almost immediately, and his voice was rough with emotion as he spoke, “Oh, _Ghivashel_ , you are truly a wonder. We never dared to hope that you would consent to wear a mark of our union.”

Bilbo clasped Dwalin’s hand to his heart and leaned his head against Thorin’s chest, and would have been perfectly content to be cradled between the two of them forever if it had been at all possible, “I take it that you approve of it, then.”

“Approve of it,” Dwalin repeated, sounding a bit dumbfounded. “It’s… it’s… there aren’t words, Bilbo. Is this what you’ve been hidin’ from us? What you were so worried about?”

Bilbo nodded, a bit sheepishly, “Er, well, yes, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Thorin questioned, pulling back slightly so Bilbo could see that one of his husband’s thick eyebrows was raised over the corresponding sapphire-hued eye.

“I… I was afraid that the reason you had not yet asked me to get a marriage inking was because you did not wish for me to,” Bilbo explained, eliciting twin winces from his husbands. “Dís told me otherwise.” Bilbo heaved out a sigh, “I thought we had agreed to leave what happened before the Battle in the past, where it belongs, my darlings.”

“Forgiven or not, we lost the right to ask this of you,” Thorin declared firmly.

“Forgiven,” Bilbo insisted, “There is no ‘or not’, Thorin.”

“This had to have hurt like hell to get done,” Dwalin stated, his fingers tracing the leaves on Bilbo’s shoulders with reverence. “Yer skin is far more sensitive than ours.”

“I heal fast,” Bilbo returned primly, ignoring the ‘sensitive’ comment, mostly because he knew that it was true. Dwarven hide was much tougher than the skin of a Hobbit, which was why it was so hard for them to accidentally burn their hands in a normal forge.

Thorin quirked the corner of his mouth up and placed a gentle kiss on Bilbo’s slightly scrunched up nose, “It’s incredible.”

“You haven’t even seen all of it.”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked in amusement. “What more could there be unless the roots extend farther down than your waist, _Khajmel_?”

“The runes in the center of the tree,” Bilbo revealed, “You both have to touch them to activate the magic.”

“You brushed the inking with your magic?” Dwalin guessed, even as he moved his fingers to the runes in tandem with Thorin’s, his thick brows furrowed over inky, indigo eyes that were narrowed in curiosity.

Though Bilbo could not physically see what happened, he could feel it all the way down to his core and he knew what he had enchanted the runes to do once both of his husbands were touching them. The runes swirled in an iridescent flash of pure and gentle magic and then they transformed into something new – the last line of the sacrosanct vows that the three of them had sworn forevermore to one another.

_**Mâ Gem Akhùthuzhur Zurkur Ze.** _

_We three will forever be as One._

Dwalin kissed him then, soundly and with a tantalizing heat simmering just underneath its surface. When he broke off to trail butterfly kisses down his neck, Bilbo’s lips were immediately recaptured by Thorin’s, who kissed like he did everything else, with unyielding passion and promise.

“Magnificent,” Thorin breathed in wonder as he moved his mouth less than an inch away from Bilbo’s. “Your magic is breathtakingly beautiful, Bilbo.”

“It’s absolutely perfect. Yer absolutely perfect, _Laslel_ ,” Dwalin replied in almost the same moment.

“Oh, no, I’m hardly perfect, my darlings,” Bilbo denied in almost a murmur, “I’m just… utterly devoted to you.”

                                         

**_THE END_ **

**Translations (Khuzdûl)**

  * _Abadaz_ – Of the Mountain
  * _Abanaz_ – Of the Stone
  * _Ûrzudaz_ – Of the Sun
  * _Kumath Kurduaz_ – Song of the Heart
  * _Ghivashel_ – Beloved
  * _Gayadê_ – My Joy
  * _Khajmel_ – Gift of all Gifts
  * _Laslel_ – Rose of all Roses



**Translations (Greentongue – Based on Welsh)**

  * _Fy Alawon_ – My Melodies




End file.
